37 | ﴾ Hermione Granger ﴿

                                    

                                          
I spent the rest of the day cowering in my bed, unable to deal with the rising panic from the micro-prophecy of the night before. It was unmistakable that it had been Draco who had struck me with the killing curse and I was driving myself insane trying to imagine how that could ever come to be. Then there was the horrific imagery of Harry's burning skeleton in the distance and the blackness that had somehow seeped into my magic. If it were to come true the war would be lost and I would come to my death at the hands of my lover. Between crying fits I tried to concentrate on remembering the first micro-prophecy from the dungeons as I recorded both for analysis later. 
                          
I woke late the next day and realized I needed to peel off the bandages and face the arduous task of bathing in the creek. It was beyond breakfast when I pushed my way through the cottage and out to the trickling water bed. I stood trying to calm my breathing as I waded into the water fully dressed in my old nightgown, a fresh dress sat folded at the waters edge. 
                          
I decided to start with the worst one first; the gash on my side. I was incredibly light headed and sick to my stomach as I worked the bandages off with the help of the water. The magic that Luna had applied had sealed the wounds, leaving behind a bright pink set of thick lines in the shape of a claw across my ribs. I nodded, breathing more steadily. It wasn't as terrible as my mind had worked it up to being, but the scars would remain for an eternity given their source.
                          
I timidly pulled the nightgown over my head, trying to hunch down in the river behind the singular tree that precariously balanced on the riparian border of the running water between my naked body and the windmill. I shut my eyes, and ripped off the other bandages on my shoulders and neck where the werewolf's claws had nearly sliced several major arteries. I threw the bandages to the shoreline and dropped down below the water's surface, holding my breath and shutting my eyes. I ran my fingers along the bumpy slices on my upper body. I had survived, and that was most important. The image of Ginny on the first day of my awakening from the coma danced in my mind. Her pitiless gaze and judgmental snort, her words regarding battle scars, "You'll get used to that. This is a war. There's no time for pretty dresses and beauty products."
                          
I resurfaced and brushed my hair back, deciding to heed Ginny's advice. She had been going through exactly what I had just experienced for far longer than I had, and perhaps I had never been fair in my perception of her. I shook out my hair and roughly had to force my new dress over my still soaked body. Towels were a luxury not present at the farm. 
                          
When I returned to the farm only Seamus and Pansy were in the living room, bickering about the qualities of the houses at Hogwarts as though they even still existed. Hogwarts was a Death Eater base now. I made to ignore them before Seamus called up at me, "Eh, princess, Harry's lookin fer yah. He's in 'is room."
                          
"Okay," I grumbled, unsure of which room was Harry's. I started on the first floor with no luck, knocking on every door and pissing off several Order members in the process. Finally, back on the third floor I realized there was only two other doors besides my own. I knocked on the closest one and no one answered, so I moved down to the final door. If I was rejected again I would give up, but this time it in fact opened and I was staring straight into the blue-green swirl of Harry's vivid eyes. 
                          
He gestured for me to come in and I noticed that Ron was sat on a bed with his usual shove-offish mannerisms in place. There were two beds in the room and I assumed they shared it. My skin prickled in the presence of Ron's personal space. My eyes gazed over the many photographs on the walls of his family members and of some other individuals that I didn't recognize. The area was highly personalized in this fashion; the boys had piles of books, clothing hung up, pictures and drawings, and numerous random possessions. I took especial interest in a golden snitch that was somehow sitting complacently on a table that separated their beds.